


Paint Splatter:  This is My Design

by atallrose32



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Hannibal is a teacher, Lonely boy Will, M/M, Mason Verger cameo, Painting Class, blink and you'll miss it Alana Bloom cameo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:26:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24899899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atallrose32/pseuds/atallrose32
Summary: Will Graham ventures out into the summer evening to take a painting class.  But an unfamiliar face is teaching tonight.
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 6
Kudos: 57





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Long time reader, first time uploader here. Would love to know what you think...

Paint Splatter: This is My Design

Chapter 1

Will flicks the left turn signal on and eases into the middle turning lane. Rain splatters vigorously against the windshield and the wipers are having a difficult time keeping up with the onslaught. Will squints behind his glasses at the dashboard clock.  
“I don’t want to be late,” he mutters to himself, barely audible over the staticky jazz on the radio.  
Truth be told, Will isn’t even close to being late. In fact, he is a solid fifteen minutes early. Will just doesn’t want the place where he normally sits to be occupied. He feels comfortable in that spot. The idea of sitting somewhere else makes his palms itch.  
Will leans forward. Steam is rising from the pavement making visibility compromised in the already dusky evening. There’s finally a break in traffic so that Will can execute his left turn to the small shopping plaza parking lot. He quickly scans the lot for a spot and chooses one of the few that are left. He kills the engine. Will closes his eyes and takes a deep breath to ready himself for some light social interaction. The sight of all of those cars has unnerved him, but he hopes that they are here for the halal grocery store or the pizza place, not the painting studio. He opens his eyes and quickly checks the satchel on the passenger seat. Flask with two fingers worth of whiskey, a protein bar and a water bottle are all accounted for. And why shouldn’t they be? He must’ve checked this bag three times before he left.  
As if on cue, the rain slows to a drizzle. With the satchel slung over a shoulder, Will heads to the painting studio. He steals a quick glance through the large glass windows to look for his preferred seat. His palms immediately start to glow red with itch. It's a full house. Almost all three of the long tables are full with bouncy blonde types. It looks like a sorority reunion. It looks loud. Not wanting to linger any longer for fear of looking like a creep, he checks for his spot and it’s surprisingly open, as is the seat next to it. Will also catches a glimpse of what this rain heavy humidity has done to his curls and it isn’t kind.  
He is tempted to take a healthy gulp of that whiskey before going inside but that doesn’t seem proper to him. Instead, he opens the door. And it feels like he opened an oven. He’s blasted with hot sensory overload, his ears ring from the overwhelm of loud conversations and laughter. He could taste about four different types of perfume. The lights sound too bright with their annoying insect hum. Will feels the ground shift beneath him as he forces his heavy feet to move to the desk to check in.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Where's Carol?  
His mind urges panic, nudges it against his shin like a dog asking to be let out. Will freezes. He doesn't like this, any of this. The people, the perfume, the lack of the familiar Carol it's all too much. And he gets angry with himself for letting his anxiety sit in the driver's seat for so long. Look at the state he's in because of dear old anxiety.  
Approaching from the back room, out of the corner of his eye, Will sees a well-dressed man; dark brown trousers with a pressed white button-down shirt with thin stripes neatly tucked in walking towards the check in desk. Will suddenly feels self-conscious about his shabby paint flecked attire.  
“Hello and welcome to, This is My Design. Will, I presume?” He smiles at Will. And Will can feel his eyes on him, waiting for him to look up and make full eye contact. He doesn't seem to be the shy type.  
Will wants to adjust his glasses before looking up to answer, to line it just so that the frame bars the person from his view. But his tone is so warm that he feels his heartbeat slow a tick or two. He decides to try.  
He looks up and is overtaken by the man’s eyes. They seem to be maroon, but Will has never seen eyes that color. He decides that they must be brown and only look like dried blood from a trick of the lights. He gets flustered and looks past the man.  
“Where's Carol?” Is all that he can manage to blurt out in a not so steady voice after meeting the eyes of this strangely friendly man. Exactly what his anxiety was nudging him to do. So, there, he let the dog out.  
He laughs a little before answering, “Carol is predisposed to romantic whims. She followed her heart to an unplanned dinner date and asked me to sub. I'm Hannibal.” He extends a slender hand to Will.  
Will hesitates before touching Hannibal. Sometimes touching people gives him these flashes of insight. And sometimes these little scenes are not the most pleasant to be privy to. Their skin touches. Will admires how cool and soft Hannibal's skin feels. The opposite of what Hannibal must be feeling right now; hot, sweaty calloused hands. Will pulls his hand back from Hannibal's grasp, slightly embarrassed.  
“Am I late?” Will asks quietly. He wonders how long this gentle tingle in his palm is going to last, something different than the usual experience he gets when he touches someone. Panic offers the idea that he’s shaken hands with everyone here and that Will should use hand sanitizer immediately. Worry counters this idea with another, that he’s only shaken Will’s hand and why would he single him out? Obviously to embarrass him or to intimidate him. People like to have power.  
Hannibal smiles again and Will feels jealous about how easy it comes to him, how natural it looks. “Not at all. They were very early compared to your appropriately early.”  
“Oh,” Will says.  
“Please help yourself to an apron and take a seat. I'll be getting started shortly.”  
Will nods and goes to get an apron from the wall rack. He puts it on while going to his preferred spot. He can feel several of the women watching him. Will sits down and sets up his area; water bottle upper right, protein bar in front and flask on the left. He checks to make sure his phone is on silent before placing his satchel on the chair next to him. Not like he has to worry about anyone calling him. What Will lacks in social connections he makes up for with looking after various neighbor’s dogs, and they can't make phone calls yet.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Will sighs and slumps down in his chair a little, feigning relaxation but genuinely feeling relieved that he made it this far considering all the changes to his normal routine.  
Will looks around the studio. The dog that won't leave him alone raises its head. He takes a long swallow from his flask to calm the anxiety. A woman nudges her friend with her elbow and cocks her head towards Will. They start to snicker like the co-conspirators that they are. Then the other woman leans into her friend and whispers to her. That pleasing tingle finally leaves his palm. Will takes another swallow from the flask, wishing the alcohol would hit his empty stomach faster to numb what he's feeling. He's annoyed by their juvenile behavior. From experience, Will knows that anger comes quickly after annoyance. And no one benefits when he gets angry.   
Will steals quick glances at the women seated in front of him share a cheese and cracker platter. Several bottles of wine scattered on their table, some empty, some half full. A shock of laughter ripples through the room. He is starting to feel very left out and alone.   
Hannibal walks to the front of the room where the tutorial easel is set up. He expertly ties his smock as he walks. There's a gracefulness about him that Will admires; the comfort of feeling like you belong in your own skin. Hannibal clears his throat, Will's thoughts scatter. Several of the women whisper excitedly to each other. The warmth from the whiskey floods up from Will's stomach to his ears and cheeks. From the safety of distance, he can finally fully look at Hannibal. Will can see why these women are so excited. Hannibal is stunning.   
He's tall and lean. Maybe lithe is the better word. He has a graceful but purposefulness to his movements. Perfectly in control of his body. Will wonders if he was a dancer before. Maybe ballet. Hannibal rolls up his sleeves, revealing toned forearms. Will takes another deep swallow of whiskey.   
“Alright ladies and Will. Let's begin.” Several heads whip around to look at Will, the only guy in the studio. Jealousy burning in their eyes. Will feels his stomach clench from the attention.  
Hannibal turns around to take the drop cloth off the easel. Will doesn't want to admit what he's feeling from seeing Hannibal from this viewpoint. Several of the women, however, make no effort to hide their giggles from so blatantly checking out their painting instructor for the evening. It doesn't seem to faze Hannibal as he pulls the cloth off with a flourish, like a chef revealing a masterpiece for dinner. He turns around with a grin on his face.  
It isn't the painting that any of them signed up for. In fact, this doesn't even resemble Carol's art style. This is dark and eerie; a red sunset with misty clouds over a watery grey horizon and a single bare tree with branches that resemble antlers silhouetted that looks like it died centuries ago.   
Hannibal explains the steps to recreate his painting, that will no doubt be stored away from public view once these ladies get home. They are more of the live, laugh, love type. Each sentence that he speaks tilts from his slight European accent. Will swears that some of them are actually swooning.  
Will wonders if that's why Hannibal is here. Guesses that maybe he enjoys being fawned over. Maybe he gets a thrill out of knowing that he could have any of the ladies here. Hell, he could have them all assembly line style. Now Will is the one with a grin on his face, being catty sometimes amused him. Just some harmless fun, really.   
Once Hannibal is done with the instructions he puts on some classical music. Another departure from Carol's style, she favors upbeat pop songs. The rain starts pounding down, drowning out the music at times. He starts to make his rounds to each person to check their progress, answer any questions or to offer words of encouragement.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

After some time, Will puts his brush down and looks over his work so far, anxious about what Hannibal will say once he makes his way over.  
“You kinda did your own thing, huh?” One of the few dark-haired women says, leaning into Will’s personal space.  
He doesn’t know how to respond to her. Carol never seemed to mind that Will used her example as more of a suggestion.  
“But the theme is still the same,” Hannibal responds, approaching Will from the opposite side, startling him for a moment. “There’s nothing wrong with being in touch with your own unique creativity and adding a personal flourish to the example, this isn’t a paint by numbers class.”  
The woman retreats to worrying about her own painting.  
Hannibal leans forward, resting his palm on the table for support while his other arm drapes over the back of Will’s chair; conscious not to disturb Will’s placement of his things. Will is engulfed in Hannibal’s scent, a pleasing mixture of dead leaves, vanilla and soap.  
“Adding some texture to the sky gives a more fever dream feeling to the painting,” Hannibal gestures with his slender fingered hand to make his point. He leans in a little more, a shade of grey highlighted hair falls across his angular cheekbone enhanced face, shielding one of his maroon colored eyes, his voice drops so only Will can hear. “Well done, Will.”  
A smug little smirk plays at the corners of Will’s mouth. He doesn’t want to relish in this too much, lest he begins to blush from the attention and then he’ll really feel embarrassed and blush even harder. Which always lead to the inevitable questions of why is your face so red, are you blushing, did I make you blush, did I just make it worse? It's a circular ride that Will wants off as soon as it starts.  
Hannibal corrects his posture and continues making his rounds.  
Will focuses on making his painting just so, trying his best to ignore the feeling of being the odd one out. Whether it be his painting not looking like the others or everyone sharing wine and jokes with each other. All of these women are friends, happily spending time together, before going home to partners that want to hear about how their paint night went. Will has nothing like that. After this he’ll go back to an empty apartment, with the oven range light dimly lit and whatever channel he left the tv on to keep the quiet at bay.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Will finally puts his brush down. He scoots his chair back to get a better view of his work. He likes it, even though it’s creepier than Hannibal’s, Will is content with his work. And he knows exactly where he’s going to hang the canvas.  
A quiet rustle surrounds Will as most of the women start to clean up and pack away their things. Long goodbyes and promises to meet up next month echo throughout the room. Then there are the heavy handful of stragglers circling Hannibal, desperate to talk to him, maybe flirt a little to put a pep in their step before going home to their husbands, who will be pleased that their wives are in such good moods. Will’s stomach grumbles and he realizes that he didn’t eat his protein bar or have any water since he was so engrossed in painting for nearly three hours. He puts his things in his satchel, grabs his painting and gets up. He takes one last look at Hannibal, who seems to be revelling in the attention, like a cat rolling in catnip. Hannibal must’ve felt Will’s gaze because now he’s looking at Will and that look makes Will feel some sort of way. So, he quickly looks down and leaves the studio without saying anything. It’s rude behavior, but Will doesn’t have the nerves to try to break through the fawning group of women.  
A weight is lifted from his chest once he’s outside in the sweetly tinged fresh air. Now safely in his car, with the keys in the ignition, painting on the passenger’s seat and satchel on the floor, Will leans his head back against the headrest and tightly closes his eyes. There’s a sharp pain in his head that feels like something is being cracked open. He tries some deep breathes to buy some time before this anxiety induced migraine knocks him on his ass. He sits like this for several minutes, oblivious to the people peaking in at the odd man alone in his car. Will sighs and opens his eyes. He slowly sits upright, gauging how he feels. He turns the keys in the ignition. Nothing. Not even that hopeful clicking noise Will has come to associate with a low battery. Something that can be easily fixed with a quick jump.  
He looks around the parking lot, considers asking someone for assistance. He has the cables all he needs is a willing car. He can see that there are still a couple of women in the studio chatting up Hannibal. But what if a jump wasn’t enough to get his engine running again? Wouldn’t that be embarrassing? Will decides that it isn’t worth the risk. He’d rather walk home. Will gathers his things he tries to calculate how long the walk will be.  
If it took me about twenty minutes to drive here with after work traffic it should take me less than an hour to walk home. That seems about right. At least the weather is pleasant.  
So, Will begins to walk home. Thunder rumbles in the sky overhead. Will looks up and a dollop of rain splats against his glasses. A car slows beside him and the passenger’s side window coasts down. It’s one of the louder blonde women from the studio.  
“Aww, didn’t your mommy remember to pick you up?” A chorus of cackles erupts within the SUV.  
They speed off, managing to drive through a large puddle, splashing the front of Will’s pants. Luckily, he moved his painting protectively behind his legs just in time.  
“Fuck you,” he says to the bumper of their car.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Will continues to walk home. A slight cool breeze rustles his rain misted hair. Will shivers a little against the light sprinkle that’s settled in. Nevertheless, he trudges on. Random thoughts ping around Will’s mind. But the only one that he can grasp for longer than a moment is the kind words Hannibal said to him. It has been awhile since Will had any sort of positive social interaction. He suddenly feels very lonely and alone. He’s almost a third of the way home when he senses another car slowing behind him.  
Not again.  
Once again, a car pulls alongside Will and once again the passenger’s side window coasts down. Will keeps his head lowered and keeps walking.  
“Going my way?”  
His head snaps up, he recognizes that soothing accent. It’s Hannibal. Will is dumbfounded. He stops walking. Will can’t help but think that he did this, that he thought Hannibal here. Will’s heart sinks a little as Hannibal slowly drives past him.  
What did you expect? You didn’t say anything. You just stood there.  
Hannibal pulls into the shoulder and puts the hazard lights on. He gets out of the car armed with an umbrella and a towel. Will can feel his heart swell as Hannibal walks toward him. That old dog anxiety nags at him to protest, to just keep his head down and walk the rest of the way home. He has things to tend to. And that’s a really nice car that you’re going to ruin with your soaking dirty clothes.  
Hannibal shares the umbrella with Will, shielding him from the drizzle. Hannibal artfully drapes the warm fluffy towel around Will’s slumped shoulders with one hand. Will looks up at Hannibal unsure of what to say.  
“What about your car?”  
Hannibal ignores Will’s question. He leans into Will to better fit under the umbrella, pulling Will closer as he tucks an arm around his shoulder, leading Will to the awaiting idling car. The gesture is both calming and seductive. And it feels like home. Hannibal takes Will’s painting and satchel, carefully putting them on the backseat. He quickly assesses any damage that may have been done to the painting from the rain. All seems well.  
Hannibal opens the door for Will, another towel is on the seat, making Will feel like a sodden stray dog. He gets in, careful to not disturb the towel placement. After buckling his seatbelt Will lets out a sigh. He can feel how soft the towel on his shoulders is through his thin wet shirt. Will lets the weight of it relax his tense shoulders. Classical music is playing at a low volume. Will thinks it might be Brahms. Hannibal shuts the door, engulfing Will in Hannibal’s scent. Will was able to ignore it while outside even though he was under Hannibal’s wing like some lost little duckling thanks to the breeze and the car exhaust. But now there is no ignoring it. It feels intimate. It feels like Will is inside Hannibal’s clothes, clinging to his skin. Will closes his eyes.  
Hannibal continues around the front of the car. He closes the umbrella and rests it on the floor mat in front of the backseat before getting in. He shuts his door and cocks his head toward Will, who is looking quite cozy.  
Will can feel Hannibal looking at him.  
“Are the seat warmers on?” He asks, breaking the silence.  
“Of course, it helps to chase the chills from your bones,” Hannibal says.  
And Will can feel it. He can feel Hannibal’s warm tone chasing the chills away. He opens his eyes and looks at Hannibal with heavy lids. This whole experience is intoxicating, dream like. Will smiles a little, feeling quite content. He can’t remember the last time he felt this cared for.  
“Thank you, Hannibal,” Will says. Trying out how the name feels in his mouth.  
“You’re quite welcome, Will,” Hannibal replies, giving Will goosebumps with how he says his name, like it is something special not coughed out like when other people say it.  
Hannibal flicks off the hazard lights, turns on the indicator and merges back on to the street.  
“So, how do I get to your home?” Hannibal asks.  
“Just keep following this road until the traffic light. Then turn right. My apartment building is the first right,” Will says.  
“Easy enough,” Hannibal says.  
“How did you know?” Will asks, looking out the window.  
“There was only one other car left in the lot after I finished cleaning up. I assumed you were having car troubles and instead of interrupting you decided to walk home. So, I looked up your member information to try to figure out which direction you were heading.”  
“Seems like a lot of work to inconvenience yourself for the night,” Will says, looking at the soft glow of the dashboard clock, 9:50pm.  
“I had no other plans for this evening. This is a fun little departure from a rather mundane Friday,” Hannibal pauses, considering his next words, wondering if Will could handle some gentle teasing. “But now you owe me,” he tests the waters.  
Will’s heart quickens. He searches Hannibal’s face to try to discern his meaning. Hannibal smirks a little and huffs out a small chuckle.  
“I’m only joking. I simply wanted to help out the considerate, creative but shy pupil from paint night.”  
“I thought I was going to get splashed again,” Will says mostly under his breath.  
Hannibal’s eyes narrow, simmering with quick temper. “Pardon?”  
Will immediately regrets saying anything. He doesn’t want to tell Hannibal about the scene from earlier, it was humiliating. Will is enjoying how he feels in this moment, he doesn’t want things to change if Hannibal begins to pity him.  
“Will?” Hannibal presses.  
“A car passed me, and I was at the receiving end of a puddle.” Will shrugs.  
“I see. So, a car passed a lone man walking home in the rain and instead of pulling over to assist they doused him in gritty puddle water.”  
“Well, I mean, it is dark out and they probably didn’t want some strange man in their car.” Will doesn’t know why he’s defending them.  
Hannibal’s face hardens.  
“It was those rude women from class. The ones who stayed behind to bore me with their idle chit-chat, keeping me from cleaning up after their friends.”  
Will readjusts his posture, sitting up straighter. This conversation is starting to make him feel uncomfortable. Hannibal’s entire demeanor has shifted. Will doesn’t want to talk about this anymore.  
“They didn’t just pass you, did they? They said something to you.” Will watches Hannibal’s hands tense on the steering wheel.  
“Oh I don’t really remember,” Will tries to dodge the question.  
Hannibal curtly nods his head. Will doesn’t want to disappoint him.  
“Something about my mom forgetting to pick me up.”  
Hannibal sighs. “What an appalling lack of imagination.” He turns right at the traffic light.  
They sit in silence as Hannibal makes the second right and slows the car as he enters the apartment parking lot.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

“Which apartment is yours, Will?” His tone is still hard edged.  
“Here is fine. Just stop the car and I’ll get out here.” The sting of embarrassment rings across Will’s face.  
“I insist,” Hannibal retorts.  
“231,” Will says, his throat suddenly feeling very dry.  
Hannibal parks in Will’s empty parking spot. Will looks up at his apartment. All of the windows are dark. There’s no soft glow from the range light or from the tv he swore he left on. Some of the color drains from Will’s face.   
“Is there something wrong?” Hannibal asks.  
“No. I ah, I thought I,” Will forces a nervous laugh, “left a light on but I guess I forgot.”  
Hannibal turns off the ignition. “I was going to offer to accompany you, but you would’ve politely refused. So instead, I’m going to follow you, trailing behind like some wolf in the night. I’ll carry your painting.”   
Will doesn’t want to see if a sinister grin is partnered with that sentence. Because if Will is honest with himself there is something about Hannibal. Something otherly. A quiet, small nudge nagged for him to be careful. To not be charmed by the man who seems to be taller in the darkness.  
They get out of the car. Hannibal takes Will’s painting and hands him his satchel.   
“Thank you,” Will mutters, digging through his bag for his keys.   
They walk up the sidewalk to the semi-private staircase, Hannibal trailing slightly behind. Will notices a several fat drops of blood in front of his door, like a welcome mat. He places his shoe on it to conceal most of it from Hannibal. The back of Will’s neck breaks out in sweat prickles. Will hesitates. There’s more blood smeared on his apartment key. Will feels like he should know why he keeps seeing blood spots. Why can’t he remember?   
“Something wrong?” Hannibal asks.  
Will can feel him leaning forward. Quickly, Will puts the key into the lock to hide the blood. A muffled bark from inside calls out.  
Will lets the door swing wide open. But he doesn’t go in. He reaches to flick on the lights. A small white dog stands guard on the couch.   
“Blue? What are you doing here?” Will says.  
Blue springs off and runs right to Will. The dog whines happily, her thin tail becomes a blur from wagging so furiously. Will can’t contain his smile. He steps a little more inside and crouches down to scratch Blue’s favorite spot on her neck.   
“Were you not expecting company?” Hannibal asks, still in the doorway to Will’s apartment.  
“I guess I forgot that I was watching Mason’s dog tonight. It’s Friday, right?”   
“For another couple of hours, yes.”   
Will freezes. He finds more blood splatter on Blue’s neck. He doesn’t get up or turn around. Will simply says, “Thank you for making sure that I got home safe. Everything is fine, you should get home.”  
But Hannibal isn’t going to leave, not just yet. Not until he can confirm what that sweet smell is emanating from somewhere in Will’s apartment. It is a smell that Hannibal is well acquainted with and if he’s right, things are about to get interesting.   
“May I come in, Will?”   
“Uhh, what? Why?”   
“Because I think that you are in deeper than you realize. Please, Will?” Hannibal caught on to what saying his name did to him. So now he was using it to his advantage.  
Will nods defeatedly. He gets up and steps aside to let Hannibal in. Hannibal closes the door behind him. He rests the painting against the wall. Hannibal closes his eyes and tilts his head back a little. He takes a deep breath in.   
Blood.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Hannibal’s eyes gleam when he reopens them.  
“You not such a shy boy after all, are you?” Hannibal taunts.  
Will furrows his brow. He rakes a hand through his hair. His hand is shaking. Blue runs to retrieve a toy and nudges Will in the legs with it. Hannibal watches the awkward gangly thing.  
“Where is Mason?”  
Will shakes his head. “I don’t remember. I lose chunks of time. But I think I did something bad. There’s blood.” Will leans down to grab the toy but Blue playfully pulls away from his grasp and bounds to the couch.  
Hannibal slowly walks further into the apartment, following the scent of blood, leading him to a closed door. Hannibal knocks lightly.  
“No wait! Don’t go in there!” Will abruptly shouts, startling Blue, who drops her pink pig plushie off the couch.  
In a dizzying wave it hits him. His vision explodes into fuzzy bright static. The stairwell. Blue yelping from Mason hurting her. The keys. Rushing to hide the body. He’s so heavy. Why is he so heavy if he’s dead? A blanket. Rolling him onto a blanket to drag into the apartment. Good, no blood on the carpet. Rushing to clean the blood in the stairwell. Why is there so much blood? It’s on his clothes. He has to change. Where to put those soiled clothes? There’s still blood staining the stairwell. Bleach? Peroxide; less noticeable, it won’t lighten the concrete and the smell won’t be overpowering. Forgetting the tv and the lights. Don’t be late. Late is suspicious. Will feels his stomach clench. If he had eaten anything, he might’ve puked right then.  
I killed a man. I killed him and his body is in my bathtub.  
Will feebly raises his arm to attempt to grab Hannibal even though he is too far away to be stopped. Hannibal opens the door and pauses in the doorway, looking in to assess the situation. He turns to Will with a bemused look.  
“Someone’s been a naughty boy,” he tsks as if there is a mud pie in the tub and not a human body.  
“How long was Mason abusing Blue before you decided to correct his behavior?”  
Will stutters for a bit until he finally manages to get the words out, “The first time I saw him hit Blue was last week while they were out for a walk. If he was doing that in plain sight, I didn’t even want to think about what was happening behind closed doors. So, I went to file a complaint with the building manager. You need so much evidence and witnesses to have humane services to step in, I know from previous experiences. And I wanted to keep her, I didn’t want her to go to a shelter. But they did nothing!” His words are picking up momentum.  
“And I saw him hit her again before class. I waited. I waited for him to walk up the stairs and I followed him. I couldn’t stop myself. I was so enraged. I confronted him. He thought it was all so stupid, it was only a dog. And he was holding Blue and squeezing her. And she cried out,” Will pauses to catch his breath. “I had my keys out. I plunged them into the side of his neck, and I took Blue from him as he started to slump down. There was less blood then I thought there would be, but he was making these noises. I had to get him inside. I grabbed a blanket to put him on to better drag him inside. The more I moved him; the more blood came out. He was so pale. And he could barely keep his eyes open. I couldn’t believe what I had done. I told him I’d call an ambulance. But I wasn’t going to do that. I turned off the light and shut the door. I let him bleed out in the dark, alone.” Will’s tone is level, unaffected, his eyes dry.  
“You’re not sorry that you did it,” Hannibal says.  
Will’s knees feel wobbly, threatening to buckle.  
“All of this mess over a dog,” Hannibal shakes his head in disbelief. “I am going to help you Will, but you must do something for me.”  
Will swallows dryly. “What?” He chokes out.  
“I’d love to have you for dinner. Cooking for one can get so tiresome, it would be nice to have some interesting company.”  
Will furrows his brow. “Yeah, okay. Sure. I’ll have dinner with you.”  
“Okay, good.” Hannibal smiles. “Now that’s out of the way, I need gloves and any cleaning solution you have, the stronger the better.”  
Will nods and hurries to the kitchen to get the supplies.  
Hannibal fully steps into the bathroom and turns on the light.  
“You wouldn’t happen to have a power saw, would you dear Will?” He calls out, amused by how this night has turned out.


End file.
